


Mantis

by Ausp_ice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Cybernetics, Gen, Good Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Experimentation, Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Seizures, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice
Summary: Detective Connor Stern investigates Zlatko Andronikov on a hunch. He expects an interview, maybe some information he can use on a case. He should be in and out within the hour.But he sees something interesting that he wasn't meant to see.Unfortunately for him, Zlatko's desire for experimentation has never been limited to androids.
Relationships: Amanda & Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 49
Kudos: 110





	1. Not Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gildedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/gifts).



> For [gildedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost)'s prompt in the New ERA server, which I adapted for the summary. Thank you for sharing, and thank you for discussing ideas with me :'D 
> 
> Mind the tags - I'll be dishing out quite a bit of pain in addition to quite a bit of comfort in this fic. But I assure that everything will turn out okay in the end.
> 
> Also, shout-out to [SkadizzleRoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadizzleRoss/pseuds/SkadizzleRoss) for making a comment that Connor had mantis vibes, which has ended up as the title :>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 1888
> 
> Chapter title from [Not Human](https://open.spotify.com/track/6999FyuD7xwDmhuYjnyA7m?si=J20lkZ6USa2RCr7pFitlgA) by elegant slims.

He's not sure how long it took to find him.

A few months after the revolution, Connor had noticed a pattern in a string of missing androids. Not enough to build a case on, really. Enough for a hunch.

Enough for him to go poking around the residence of one Zlatko Andronikov alone. The man let him in easily enough and was willing to answer Connor’s questions, but somehow, something didn’t sit right with him. All his instincts were telling him that something was _wrong,_ despite the fact that Mr. Andronikov didn’t say anything suspicious at all.

After Connor left out the front door, he tried going around the back. And that is how he stumbles upon the man's basement, his house of horrors—androids mutilated, taken apart and put back together—but not just that. He should have left then, probably. Taken pictures of the evidence. He should have called Hank—the android would have likely immediately sent for backup. Instead, he pushed further, and found—blood. Red blood. Human blood, both fresh and old, and he was afraid of going further—but that was when he was found.

Bulky arms wrapped around him from behind, and he found himself trapped in the hold of a very tall and muscular individual, surprisingly normal-looking besides what looked to be a circuit line on his temple. Connor struggled. Tried to break free. But the grip was far stronger than he was capable of breaking, and he was dragged upstairs, brought to his knees before Zlatko Andronikov himself.

“Like what you saw?” The man asked. “Unfortunately, I can't exactly let you leave after that.” He went though Connor's things, took his phone, wallet, badge. “Detective Connor Stern. A little bug, scurrying in the walls.” He made a show of pondering, hand on his chin. “I know _just_ the thing. Don't worry! You’ll live. You’ll be so much _better._ Luther!” he barked. “Take him downstairs.”

Connor struggled as much as he could. He clawed at the man's arm, and was shocked to find not blue blood, but red. A dread settled into him then, and he renewed his struggles. Begged ‘Luther’ to let him go.

He didn’t.

Luther brought him to a room that reeked of antiseptic, strapped him to a chair with a too-bright light hanging over him. “Please, please let me go,” Connor begged.

“Zlatko will be arriving soon,” is all Luther said. He turned around and rifled through the things on the side bench, before turning around with a syringe in hand.

“No, no, no,” Connor tried to shy away, but there was nothing he could do as Luther grabbed his arm and stuck the needle in his arm.

It wasn't long before darkness took him.

When he woke up, he couldn't quite recall what had happened. He was groggy, confused, and couldn't quite make out the silhouette standing above him.

“State your name.”

“Connor Stern,” his mouth moved on its own, and he was afraid.

“Who is your master?”

“You, Zlatko.”

That was not the last time he was put under. Zlatko had installed the control units first, Connor presumed, and tested them to make sure they were functional. He presumes that because every time he woke up, there was something new.

He woke with an almost reverent touch on his bare back, on the device the man had installed on his spine to control his every movement. He woke with his vision glitching in his left eye, before it resolved into overlays and analysis software. He woke with his forearms replaced with black chassis, and Zlatko telling him to activate his blades, and finding terrifying, elegant blades folding out of both of his forearms.

He woke with his legs _gone,_ replaced by slender, powerful things that could propel him forward in an instant. With something in his chest, pulsing steadily, and he could see a circular object embedded in him—some kind of battery to power his “upgrades.”

He couldn't scream. He couldn't struggle. He could only obey, and watch as Zlatko set Connor on his other creations. Connor watched himself tear those poor things apart—again and again, as Zlatko pieced them back together.

Luther watched. He did nothing but watch, and Connor had to wonder if he was screaming inside, too. He has to wonder if Zlatko even knew Connor was still conscious, underneath it all.

And then Connor was sent out to “gather materials.” Stray androids, and if he could, stray humans. He could do nothing but watch himself hurt and take and take and pound against the walls of his own body, taken from him. He was a weapon. Silent, elegant, efficient.

(None of the few humans he brought back survived for long. Connor doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that he did.)

He couldn't say anything if he was hungry. The first time he collapsed from hunger was when his body felt like it was shutting down. Still he tried to move, to obey, to _obey—_ and then Zlatko made an irritated noise before putting him under again.

When he woke up, Zlatko told him that he didn't have to worry about eating that much from then on. Connor was— _scared—_ because he couldn't see what Zlatko did to him, he didn't know how much he'd been changed, he didn't know how much of him was _him_ anymore.

He let himself drift sometimes. He thought of Nines. How was he doing? He hoped his brother was okay. He missed him so much. So, so much. He brought up memories of sitting on the couch together, talking late into the night. They never had any secrets between them, and Nines was the first to know when Connor had decided to leave for Jericho.

He thought of Hank. Was the android looking for him? He must be. Always keeping tabs on Connor, making sure he's okay, making sure he's taking care of himself. A hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his hug.

He even thought of Amanda. Their adoptive mother. Connor and Nines had moved out years ago, but they still call every now and then. Nines doesn't, really, but still answers if _she_ calls. Connor wanted to see her again.

But he couldn't escape reality. He remembers. The faces of those he hurt. He tried to resist, tried to stop himself. He couldn't. Until… An android fought back, once. Well, with an actual weapon. A knife. Connor managed to hold himself still long enough to get himself slashed in the abdomen. Enough to spill blood. Enough to leave a trail as he brought the android back and added one more voice to the screams.

He didn't mention the wound. By the time he got back, it had stopped bleeding, and with his black clothes, the injury was hidden well enough. His body still moved the same. _Connor_ felt pain, but it was as if his body didn't.

It felt like far too long before Luther informed Zlatko that the police had surrounded the mansion. “Shit,” he said, “Shit!” He hit Connor. It hurt. “Fucking broken toy! You must have led them to us…”

He scoffed darkly, and then said, “Well, why don't you make yourself useful one last time? Hold them off as long as you can. Don't stop until you can't move.”

“Yes, Zlatko,” Connor said, and leaped away.

It had started to rain earlier, and by now it was falling heavily, soaking into his clothes, his hair. Running down his face like the tears he couldn't shed. It was cold.

He jumped down from the roof of the mansion, landing in sight of the police line. They shouted at him to put his hands in the air, to stand down. He wasn't sure if he could recognize the voice. He raised his arms… and then whipped out his blades before rushing forward, towards one of the officers. They barely managed to dodge, and he gouged a deep line into the car behind them, instead.

Shouting, confusion, and then a gunshot. His chest bloomed with pain, but he didn't slow down. He slashed down, tearing into flesh, non-fatal, _non-fatal_ —more gunshots, more pain, and then one that made him convulse with a burning shock. Everything went white, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, twitching with aftershocks.

The power unit. He was shot in the center of his chest, and his cybernetics were overloaded by it and now rapidly losing power. He was bleeding. It hurt, but it was also so cold and so numb. He was sleepy. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest. He wanted to stop.

Connor closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him, the sirens and the shouting. He tensed when he heard Zlatko’s voice, and Luther’s? Opening his eyes, he could see Luther holding their oppressor’s hands behind his back, a pained expression on his face, turning him into the police.

That's… great. That's wonderful. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. He thought he could almost imagine Nines calling out for him. God, he missed him so much.

He was brought back to reality by a familiar voice, very close. “That’s not an android.”

“Hank?” someone else asks from nearby. Also familiar. So familiar it hurts.

Connor opened his eyes again to see the familiar form of the HK800, kneeling, silver hair in a ponytail, soaked in rain. He assumed, at least. Everything was blurry. Someone else was standing beside him, but Connor couldn't make them out.

Hank lifted a finger from the ground to his mouth, and his LED turned bright red. He turned his gaze to Connor, meeting his eyes, a look of absolute despair dawning on his face. _“Connor?”_

Connor could only blink slowly. But it was then that the other form rapidly approached, ignoring Hank’s strangled, “Wait,” and suddenly, Connor was looking into his twin’s familiar icy eyes. Shaking hands slid under his arms, his _arms—_ the blades were still out, still bloody, and Connor was afraid, _afraid_ that he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

“N-no,” he managed, “away. Stay a-away.” His arms twitched, and the metal scraped against the stone, but Nines only pulled him close, pulled Connor into a warm, warm, embrace, and Connor cried. It was the first time he cried since that day he was dragged into the basement, and it _burns,_ but it's there, it's finally there, Nines is here and Hank is here and Connor feels a warmth in the endless, endless cold.

“Connor,” Nines says, muffled by the way his face is pressed into Connor's shoulder, by the sorrow and grief in his voice. “Oh, god, Connor.”

And Connor is tired, and he finally feels like he can breathe, even though he's bleeding out and freezing. Connor is tired, and he gives in, pressing his face into Nines's shoulder and letting the sobs wrack through his body. It hurts, it's cold, and he's probably dying, but he thinks… He can let himself have this.

It makes more aftershocks pulse through his body, but he manages to fold his blades into his arms. He lifts his arms to clutch weakly at Nines's back, and his brother sobs, squeezing him tighter.

It doesn't feel like it hurts anymore. He feels warm and numb and calm, and when he closes his eyes, everything slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some concept art of Zlatko'd Human Connor: 
> 
> It's posted on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice/status/1291104231559008256).  
> If you're wondering about how the blades fit, they're extendable - they retract when they're in his arms. Maybe I'll make a little animation of the unfolding one day, ha.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 2912
> 
> If you haven't seen it, Frost drew Mantis Connor! You can see it on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/gildedfrost/status/1294658809659568133). 
> 
> Remember that animation I said I might make of Connor's arm blades? I did, in fact, make it. You can see it [here](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice/status/1296150941574414336) aheh
> 
> Also! I made a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Imzv6lu1STV67UWDWklBi) for this after Frost suggested that "It's Alright" by Mother Mother fits perfectly :'D

When he wakes up, he is strapped down. A slow beeping reintroduces him to wakefulness, and he opens his eyes to too-bright lights and the too-familiar feeling of being drugged.

The beeping does not remain slow. “N-no,” spills out of his lips, and he desperately tugs at his restraints. But he's so weak, so helpless, he can't stop whatever's going to happen to him, and he keens in fear, in barely-restrained panic. He can't even think about the fact that he can actually move on his own, that his body is obeying his own commands.

He tries to open his blades without thinking—he just wants to get _away—_ but they’re locked down by something around his forearms. His panic rises.

“Connor! Connor, hey, hey, you’re okay, it's okay…”

A touch lands on his shoulder and he flinches away violently, as much as he can. The entire bed shakes with the movement. He can feel something tug on his neck. The touch goes away.

“Shit, sorry. C’mon, kid, can you hear me? You're in the hospital. We found you. You're safe. Can you breathe with me? Come on, in, out. In, out.”

He tries to focus on the voice. It's familiar. It's safe, he just—needs to calm down. Breathe, Connor, breathe. That's it, you're doing great.

Slowly, clarity resolves. Hank. Hank is here. He's not in the basement. He's not under the knife. He's not under the knife, but he still feels that familiar grogginess, that unpleasant feeling of being drugged. Of being strapped down and helpless.

“C’mon, kid. Look at me?”

Connor hears the faint whirring of his bionic eye as the software comes online. _Low Power,_ the overlay informs him. Still, he manages to focus on the form sitting by his bed, and blurry shapes resolve into one HK800, LED flickering between red and yellow. “H’nk,” Connor mumbles.

Hank looks relieved, and his LED settles on yellow. “Hey, Connor. Welcome back.”

Connor's mouth is dry, and his voice doesn't cooperate when he tries to speak again. Hank's eyes widen slightly, and he leans over to grab—a cup of water, Connor realizes.

“It's Nines's,” Hank explains. “But I don't think he'll mind.” He tilts his head towards something behind him. Connor makes out a vague black form before he discerns the gangly limbs and the mop of messy hair. His brother, passed out on a sofa. He must be really out of it if he slept through Connor's… panic.

Connor tries to reach a hand up, only to be met with the resistance of his restraints. He makes a soft noise, looking down. His chest and legs are covered with a blanket. His chest region is uneven—it looks like there are wires or tubes going from his chest to something down the side of his bed. The movement also makes the thing on his neck tug again, and he realizes that his IV must’ve been put there. Considering the state of his arms and legs.

A buzzing anxiety rises within him. He doesn't know what they've done to him.

His arms are visible on the sides, and he can see the cuffs around his wrists, in addition to metal braces on the black chassis of his arms. They must be there to keep him from opening his blades. That makes him anxious, too. On the edge of something like the panic he had upon waking up.

“Sorry, Connor,” Hank says, and Connor looks up to see bitter regret on his face. “They… didn't know how you'd act when you woke. If you'd be… yourself or not. I'm not allowed to remove them, not until they figure out… everything that's been done to you. Here.” He lifts the cup to Connor's lips, and he gulps it down greedily.

“Careful, kid! Don't choke.”

Connor obeys, taking it more slowly. It's then that he hears a sleepy sound, a soft hum from the pile of Nines in the corner. “Hank? Wh…” Connor pulls away from the cup to see Nines blinking blearily, rubbing his eyes, before freezing as soon as he spots Connor. Any dregs of sleepiness bleed away, and he looks—hopeful, sad, exhausted, scared. Of Connor? Of what he's become, of what he's been made into?

Looking away is easier, so that's what Connor does. But he can't help but pay attention to the way the footsteps come closer, he can't help the way he tenses and tries to shy away, closes his eyes and tries to hide, but then there's a trembling touch on his face, wiping away fresh tears, and Connor lets out something between a gasp and a sob.

“Connor,” Nines whispers. “Connor, please. My brother. Look at me. _Please.”_

“I'm,” Connor whimpers. “I'm not—I've b-been made into something else.”

“No. No. Please.” Another hand on his face, and he's being gently guided to turn his head towards Nines's voice. “No matter what happened,” his voice cracks, “I still love you. You're still my big brother. Please, let me see you.”

Finally, Connor cracks open his eyes, and his gaze lands on his brother's face. His icy eyes swim with unshed tears, but they fall within moments of Connor opening his eyes. Nines gives a watery smile, thumbing his cheek. “There you are,” he says, and then immediately dives down to wrap Connor in a warm, warm embrace.

Connor wants to hug back, but he can only struggle uselessly—until Nines slides one hand down to interlace with his, and Connor squeezes as tight as he can. Which is not that tight, as far as he can tell. He feels so weak. So helpless.

He meets Hank's eyes over Nines's shoulder. “I missed you so much,” Connor whispers. “Both of you. Even Amanda… Captain Fowler… even Gavin,” Connor laughs weakly. “God,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I couldn't do anything. I was there, _inside,_ but my body—I could only watch. I hurt people. Brought them to the very hell I was in. I could hear them screaming, but I couldn't scream. I brought them to die, I k-killed them—”

“No,” Hank interrupts, face dark. “That wasn't you, and you weren't the one to kill them.” He comes around the hospital bed to sit on the other side, grabbing Connor's other hand. “You,” he says, “are so strong.” Connor shakes his head, but Hank barrels over him. “You were with that sack of shit for—for so fucking long, and—” his face pinched and his voice wavers, “You held out. You're _alive.”_

“Am I?” Connor can't help but ask. “I don't even know what he did to me, besides what I can see. How much of me is me, and how much is machine?”

 _“Yes,”_ Nines says, squeezing tight. “Yes, you're alive, Connor, you're alive.”

“Connor.” Hank levels a look at him. “I’m _all_ machine, and tell me—does that make me unalive?”

“No!” Connor tightens his grip on both of their hands. “No, of course not…”

“Then it doesn't matter how much of you is mechanical, kid. You're still alive, and you're still you.”

Connor's eyes well up with tears. “Am I?” he asks again.

“Yes,” both his brother and partner say, and the tears fall. He shakes with quiet, gasping sobs, letting Nines's warmth seep into the cold that feels so pervasive even now, clinging to their hands with as much force he can muster.

“How long,” he asks at some point. “How long has it been?”

Nines pulls away, face pinched. “I…” he hesitates, and then: “Five months. Since you—went missing. A week since we found you. And…” Something in his face twists. “Three days since they were sure you were going to make it.”

The information settles in like ice. Five months. But more than that—a jittery fear trickles through his veins, and he asks, “Did they do anything to me?”

“They patched you up,” Hank says, and Connor turns to him. “But tried to avoid touching any of your…” he pauses, “cybernetics. They didn't know what would happen if they tried to fiddle with anything.” Hank runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic Connor's taken notice of before. “The only thing they touched was the power source in your chest, since it was badly damaged when you were… shot.” He says the word like it pains him. “It was only after they hooked you up to external power that you started to stabilize for sure.”

“Oh,” Connor says. Things feel distant, somehow.

“Chloe Kamski came in. Since your stuff looks a lot like it was derived from android tech, and they hoped she might be able to help you. I—” Hank looks away. “I called her. You were dying and I didn't know what to do.”

“Hank!” Connor flinches at Nines's voice, but then there's a hand brushing away his tears. Oh. “I'm sorry, Connor. We're sorry.”

And Connor doesn't know what to do, because he suddenly wants to curl in a ball and hide, cover up his chest, go somewhere far away, far from prying hands. He doesn't want—he doesn't want anyone—he doesn't want anyone else _changing_ him, he—

“They didn't do anything else, okay?” Nines murmurs, hand brushing back Connor's grimy hair. “They wanted to ask what you wanted to do when you woke up. Whether to modify or remove everything, whether you wanted them to make you look more—” he clips off his sentence, and Connor wonders if he was going to say _more like yourself_ or _more human._ “To make cosmetic changes,” Nines finishes weakly.

“I,” Connor croaks. “I don't.” He closes his eyes. “Know.”

He wants to erase everything that happened. He wants himself back, his body, his agency. He doesn't want to look like a monster. But the mere thought of going under the knife again makes his toes curl in visceral fear—except he doesn't have toes, exactly, just metal feet that whirr quietly as he tries to move. “I don't know,” he says again. “I just wanna go home.”

Both Nines and Hank have twin expressions of pain. It’s at this opportune moment that a nurse walks in, and Connor opens his eyes to see them falter in—surprise? Fear? “Connor Stern?” they ask, voice full of trepidation. “Are you…”

“I'm awake,” Connor says, voice subdued. “And… myself.” More or less.

“Okay,” they nod slowly, lifting their tablet up. “That's good. I'm Sylv, your nurse for today.” They look at Hank and Nines. “Do the two of you mind if I ask him a few questions?”

Both Nines and Hank give affirmatives, though Hank adds, “As long as you don't mind that we're here.”

Sylv hesitates, glancing at Nines. “I take it that you’re Richard Stern? Connor's sibling?”

“Nines, please. And yes.”

They nod again. “Okay. And…” they turn to Hank.

“He's as good as family to me,” Connor interjects before they say anything else.

“Alright,” they concede.

What follows is Sylv’s series of questions, and that's fine. Straightforward. Connor can answer questions.

How is he feeling? Better than before. Nervous. Scared. Relieved but still tense. No, he's not in pain. They must have him on painkillers.

Is he in control of his body? Yes.

Does he remember everything that happened? Yes. He wouldn't be able to forget.

Is he aware of all the changes that have been done to his body? No. He was unconscious during the operations.

Would he allow the hospital to investigate what changes have been made to his body?

Connor pauses at that one, before answering with, “I don't know.”

Does he want to undergo any procedures to remove or replace any cybernetics? “I will note,” Sylv adds, “that I do not know if we can safely remove the cybernetics. Based on preliminary scans, the modifications are,” they grimace, “deeply ingrained with your nervous system.”

Connor expected as much. “Can I… decide later? I just…” he looks off to the side. “I just want to go home. Can I go home?” He feels Nines squeeze his hand.

Sylv’s expression smooths into a softer one. “Yes, I’m sorry. You can decide later. There are a few more things we need to do before we can release you. We still aren’t sure what effects your cybernetics have on your long-term health, and we need to make sure that you can… maintain control of yourself.”

Connor feels like he stops breathing. They still don’t know if—if he can even stay like this?

They gesture towards his chest before he can think of a response. “We currently have you connected to an external power source, but it’s much weaker than a quantic battery, which is what we believe you had before it was destroyed. We don’t know what will happen once you get full power again, but it’s still the best option for mobility.”

“Will you need to operate on him again?” Nines asks sharply.

Sylv frowns, checking their tablet. “Technically, no. We've repaired and acquired all the necessary parts, so in theory, all we need to do is assemble them. We just don't know if it'd be safe to reinstall while he's awake—”

“Can you?” Connor interrupts. “Can you do it while I'm awake?”

The nurse's frown deepens.

“Please.” Connor closes his eyes briefly. “I don't want to go under and find things— _different—_ again.”

“Connor,” Hank says softly, “Are you sure? It might be worse…”

“I don’t know if we can allow that,” Sylv finally says. “It’s safer if you’re unconscious, so that we lower the risk of complications…”

“What about _after?”_ Nines hisses, hunching over slightly as if to protect Connor from the outside world. Huh. “My brother has spent so long with his agency taken from him. Can you not give him this?”

Sylv bites their lip. “I… I’ll see what I can do.”

“And,” Nines bites out, “can you release his restraints? He’s not going to hurt us.”

A strange, desperate feeling that almost feels like hope leaps into Connor’s throat. But it’s immediately met with a cold, biting fear. What if he’s not as in control as he thinks? “Nines—”

“It’s not just for you,” he says, and for the first time in the entire conversation, Connor can hear the bone-deep exhaustion in his twin’s voice. “Let us?”

Connor can do nothing but nod in response. He watches as Sylv checks their tablet again, lips tightening, but they eventually nod. “The braces stay on,” they say, gesturing to the metal pieces keeping him from bringing out the blades. “But we can let you out of the rest.”

They approach, and both Nines and Hank let go of his hands to let Sylv undo the restraints. He feels the emptiness of his hands as they unlock his legs, and then his arms. “Don’t try to move around too much, okay? You’re hooked up on painkillers, but you’re still injured.”

“Okay…”

And then he’s free. Sylv moves away, and Connor immediately sits up slightly, holding his arms close to his chest. As the blanket slides down, he can see the battery port in his chest—an empty cavity with what he assumes is jumper cables connected to it. He suppresses a shiver, turning his attention away to glance at both Hank and Nines.

Nines acts first. He steps forward, expression suddenly pinching with a slight uncertainty. Connor reaches a hand out—black chassis, yellow lights gleaming in the seams, slightly clawed at the tips of his almost-skeletal, robotic, inhuman fingers—and Nines takes it before Connor can think to pull back. The pale skin is a stark contrast to the blackness of his own hand, and Connor’s gaze drops.

Nines will not have it. He puts his other hand on the side of Connor’s face—a slow, telegraphed movement that Connor neither approaches nor avoids—and tilts Connor’s face up. “You’re still you, Connor. You’re my brother. I love you.” In the next moment, they’re embracing. Connor clings tightly to Nines’s back, weeping quietly. Nines has his arms over Connor’s, holding him on the nape of his neck and the top of his head, fingers running through his hair.

Connor lets himself soak in the feeling before turning his head towards Hank, who’s watching them with an expression that somehow looks both soft and melancholy, LED spinning a slow yellow. When Connor lifts one hand from Nines’s back to reach towards him, he almost looks surprised—but wastes no time in taking it in both of his own hands. His chassis flickers through unsteady nanoskin, and Connor feels a strange tingle in his hand before Hank takes a deep breath and the nanoskin stabilizes.

Despite his brusque demeanor, Connor knows that he still doesn’t handle intense emotions that well. He eases his hand out of Hank’s to reach towards him, inviting him forward. Nines notices this and moves to pull away, probably to give Hank his chance, but Connor holds him tight even as he brings Hank closer.

In moments, Hank’s arms are around both of them. It’s warm. Encompassing. Hank gives big hugs, and Connor knows Nines isn’t unaffected by them, either. Not before, and not now, when his breath hitches and he squeezes Connor tighter.

“God, Connor,” Hank mumbles. “God, we missed you.” He’s shaking. “We all missed you, you know. Everyone visited, even if they weren’t allowed to see you.”

He wants to ask—who?—but Connor’s voice is lodged in his throat. So he doesn’t talk. He just holds Hank and Nines close as _he_ is being held close. He lets himself breathe, and think that maybe, _maybe—_ he can be okay one day.


	3. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few last things before Connor can leave the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 2754
> 
> Title from Control by Halsey.

Both Nines and Hank stay overnight. Apparently, only one person is supposed to be allowed to, but Hank was very convincing—putting those negotiation algorithms to good use, Connor figures. 

“Amanda visited,” Nines tells Connor at one point. “She took leave from work as soon as she heard you were found.”

“Where… is she now?”

Nines exchanges a glance with Hank. “As far as I know, she’s with Chloe and the other…” he hesitates. “They’re calling you and him ‘augments.’”

Augments. As if what  _ he  _ did to them made them  _ better.  _ “I don’t want to be called that.”

Nines’s face pinches, and Hank’s LED turns red for a moment. “Of course,” Nines says. “We’ll let them know.”

Connor nods. “Is… is Luther okay?”

“Yes,” Hank says. “Ms. Kamski and Ms. Stern are analyzing his cybernetics with his consent. All of them want to help you, kid.”

Connor blinks. “They do?” 

Hank’s LED spins yellow. “Of course. Why are you surprised?”

“I…” Connor swallows. “I don’t know. I just…” He trails off, something clicking in his jaw. “I don’t know.”

Nines’s face becomes tinged with sadness, and he takes Connor’s hands into his own. He opens his mouth to say something. Doesn't.

The rest of the night is quiet. Nines crawls into bed next to Connor when it gets late, wrapping an arm around him, and Connor is… reluctant to let his brother do so. He’s nervous, scared, embarrassed, even—but Nines doesn’t relent, Hank’s no help, and Connor gives up his half-hearted protests. Hank sits nearby, saying nothing as Nines’s breaths even out, as his heartbeat slows. 

It’s… nice to feel. Nice to listen to. Nice to have someone next to him.

Connor doesn’t sleep, though. Not for a while. Doesn’t plan to. It’s been… easier not to be affected by sleep deprivation so much. 

(He’s used to not sleeping.) 

Hank doesn’t go into stasis, either. He watches quietly, LED spinning a slow yellow, while Connor loosely clings to the back of Nines’s shirt. Connor signs  _ Stasis?  _ with one hand to him at some point, but he only shakes his head. 

Connor's mind is a cycle of  _ what if, what if.  _ What if he hurts Nines? What if he's not as in control of himself as he thinks he is? What if the braces can't actually hold him? 

"Connor," Hank says, voice low. "You're fine. I'll keep watch." 

It's hard to let himself relax. But somehow… in listening to his brother’s biorhythms, letting himself sink into the feeling of being held, _safe—_ Connor falls into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day rolls around. The hospital agrees to let him stay awake for the battery installation under two conditions: he must be restrained, and they will sedate him if he becomes too distressed. 

Connor agrees. Given that he’d be sedated in the other option anyways, he supposes this at least gives him a chance to stay awake. 

Both Nines and Hank have to wait outside, though they’re incredibly unhappy about it—Hank looks like he might murder someone and Nines looks like he’d hide the body. Connor feels comforted by their concern. When the staff eventually agree to let them inside as soon as the procedure is over, Nines relaxes minutely and takes Connor’s hand. “You’ll be okay, Connor.”

“I hope so…”

Hank huffs. “You better be. We’ll be just outside, okay? Holler if you need us, we’ll come regardless of the damn consequences.” 

The hospital staff protest this. Not very effectively, though, and they give up. They soon usher them out of the room, and then it’s just Connor and two nurses—Sylv and someone he doesn't know. 

Connor is strapped back down, and he tries to ignore the way it makes his heart rate pick up. The way it makes a cold sweat break out on his skin. He tries to ignore how much harder it's getting to breathe as they pull off the blanket covering him, exposing the empty cylindrical unit with wires coming out of it. 

"Are you alright, Connor?" he hears distantly. 

"Y-yes," he manages. 

"We're going to disconnect you from the external power source, okay? And then we're going to put the battery in." 

"Okay…"

There's a tugging feeling, and he looks down to see them pulling on the wires. He jolts against his restraints when they disconnect, and a ringing sound fills his ears as he gasps in a breath, suddenly feeling like everything is spinning. 

_ "Quickly—in, now—" _

He lets out another gasp as something is pushed into the slot and another jolt of electricity runs through him. Immediately, a sharp clarity realigns in his mind and he sees  **REBOOTING…** in his left eye. 

"Connor, can you hear me? Is everything alright?"

Connor swallows. Blinks as he takes in his surroundings. The two hospital staff watching him worriedly as he catches his breath. He feels… okay. More energetic. He feels strength running through his limbs again. "Y-yes, I'm alright—"

**CONTROL UNIT REBOOTED. ALL FUNCTIONS RESTORED.**

What? Wait… 

A cold feeling washes through him, and it feels too much like being pushed back into a corner of his mind. Like when he wasn't in control of his actions. 

"Connor?" Sylv looks at him warily. 

She should be wary.  _ Something's wrong,  _ he tries to say, but it doesn't come out. Instead, he sees  **FIND AND ASSIST ZLATKO** sear across his left eye, along with overlays assessing the threat level of the nurses to his objective. 

No. No, no, no. Help. Help me,  _ no.  _

"Connor, are you yourself?"

**ASSESSING…**

**TASK: DECEIVE**

Against his will, he thinks of the best ways to deceive the nurses, working alongside his predictive processors. As usual, his body plucks the one that has the highest chance of success out of his mind. 

"Yes, I'm alright. I just needed a moment."

"Okay… I'm going to let you up while Nyra gets your brother and… friend?"

No, no— "Thank you, that would be wonderful."

The other nurse—Nyra, apparently—leaves the room while Sylv undoes his restraints. Connor sits up stiffly, raising his arms. The braces… 

"Will these be removed?" his body asks.

Sylv frowns. "We don't plan to for a while yet. Why?"

"It's like a limb. If I don't stretch it out every now and then, it becomes… uncomfortable." Which is  _ true— _ something Connor had discovered when he was blessedly left alone for days—but no, she can't— 

"We gave a key to your brother," Sylv says, "since he's agreed to take care of you. And then you can let it out whenever you're feeling restless, okay?"

"Alright. Thank you." He shifts to let his mechanical legs hang over the side of the bed, glossy black shining in the hospital lights. He tests their movements—function seems to be fully restored, but a calibration would be ideal… 

—Connor wants to scream. His own mind is being used, he knows he's good at predictions, he knows his mind runs a mile a minute thinking of various actions to take, but he  _ hates  _ that the control system just  _ uses it.  _ Because it's still him, still something he thought of. 

He struggles in his own mind, but it feels like pounding against a wall, making his mind go fuzzy at every strike. He needs to break free. Luther did, didn't he? Luther's  _ free,  _ so why— _ why—? _

"Connor!" Nines rushes inside, Hank following closely behind him. 

Connor looks up to see his brother quickly approaching, worry on his face. 

"How are you feeling?" Nines asks, hovering near him.

"I'm okay," he says, when he really isn't. 

And then his processors analyze his brother.  **THREAT TO OBJECTIVE: HIGH.**

**TASK: RETRIEVE KEY**

**TASK: ELIMINATE THREAT // KILL RICHARD STERN**

All his thoughts grind to a halt. Actually, they don't, because he's thinking of all the ways he can so easily kill his brother right now. Drive a heel through his chest. Tear out his throat. Snap his neck. He could kill Nines, the nurses, make a break for it.

Hank would stop him. Hank is watching him, LED yellow, "Connor?" 

**THREAT TO OBJECTIVE: HIGH**

_ No,  _ he thinks.  **_No._ **

When he starts standing up, he throws his mind against that wall. It is—strong, but brittle, riddled with cracks—he can, he  _ can,  _ he  _ has to—! _

Something breaks, and all his tasks shatter into nothingness. His mind feels light, suddenly unburdened, an immense weight lifted. It's dizzying. Everything feels far away.

The next thing he knows, he's on the floor, feeling oddly groggy. Disoriented. 

"The spasms have stopped," he hears, murmured. Hank? … Spasms?

"Wh… nn…" Connor tries to say, but it feels like talking through cotton. He blinks at the tiled floor, trying to focus on it. His head hurts. 

"We need to—"

"Let me."

Strong arms lift him up, and then he's being set down on a soft surface. The bed? 

"Connor," Hank says, "can you hear me?"

Connor blinks a few times before managing to refocus on his surroundings. Nines is hovering next to him, wringing his hands, looking lost, looking scared. Connor wants to hold his hand. Wants it for both of them. 

The two nurses stand nearby, one of them doing something on the tablet. And Hank… Hank is sitting next to Connor, hand on his back, LED a bright red. 

"Hank?" Connor croaks. "Wh… what happened?"

"You had a seizure. Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds."

What? "A seizure?"

Hank nods. "A sudden, uncontrolled electrical disturbance in the brain. It can cause changes in your behavior, movements or feelings, and in levels of consciousness—"

"I know what a seizure is, Hank," Connor gripes, lifting a hand to his head. The pain has faded to a dull throb. "I know…" he mumbles, and then the full realization of what was about to happen hits him like a truck. 

He starts crying. Just—silent tears dripping down his face as he shakes, curling into himself, pointed fingers digging into his arm and his head until Hank pries them away. Then Nines is sitting next to him, and Connor flinches, he can't help it, but it almost hurts more to see the brief hurt on his brother's face.

"I almost killed you," Connor blurts, voice trembling. "W-when the… when everything rebooted—the control system was still active."

Nines's eyes widen.

"I-it was just because I wasn't getting enough power that the control system wasn't working. I didn't break free, not like—Luther must have," Connor takes in a shaky breath. "At least, not until a moment ago." He closes his eyes, squeezing Hank's hands. "You said deviancy was like breaking a wall for you, wasn't it? Hank. I think it was—a little like that." He laughs. "God, I was going to—" he keens, a wounded sound, and Hank pulls his head to his chest. He doesn't resist. He doesn't have the energy. He just shakes.

"Connor," Nines whispers, reaching towards him but pulling back. "I…" He bites his lip. 

"You're okay now, Connor," Hank assures. "You… broke the wall." His grip tightens slightly before loosening. "That must mean you're free."

"H-how can I be sure of that?" Connor asks, voice small. "What if it happens again? What if—"

"Then I'll stop you." Hank squeezes him. "I'll stop you and I'll bring you back."

_ "We  _ will, Hank," Nines says. He carefully takes one of Connor's hands from Hank, interlacing their fingers together. "Okay? You're not alone anymore."

Connor barely manages to curl his fingers around his brother's. 

"Excuse me—I'm sorry," Nyra says, "We need to check on him."

Connor flinches, curling into himself. "Will that happen again? I… I didn't even… I wasn't aware when I was… seizing." And  _ that _ is a terrifying thought. It makes a cold fear settle in him, one he can't shake away. He was just—there, and then not there. 

"Since this seems correlated to whatever you did just now, hopefully it's an isolated incident. We'd like to do a neurological examination, however, if that's alright. Nothing invasive, we'll just check your responses to various stimuli."

Connor closes his eyes and nods. "Okay," he says. "Can they stay? Please…"

Sylv sighs. "Just give us some space, please."

Hank and Nines sit on the seats nearby while Sylv assesses Connor's condition and Nyra takes notes on her tablet. The tests are straightforward: what is his name, where he is, what happened. 

"I… I was…" What happened? So much happened. He remembers… too much, too well. Whatever  _ he  _ did, it made his eidetic memory even sharper. Not counting the times during which he daydreamed of better days. "I was taken… and…"

"Shh, Connor," Sylv says gently. "Not that far back. What happened today?"

Oh. Connor relaxes slightly. "I woke up with Nines and Hank with me. You reinstalled the battery…" he lifts his hand to his chest, the metal of his hand clinking against that of the power unit. He doesn't feel sensation in his hands like he used to, but he still registers pressure. Temperature. It's… warm. 

"The control unit reactivated. I… deviated, somehow, and then had a seizure, apparently."

Sylv nods, pursing their lips. "Yes… right."

They shine a light into his human eye, before hesitating and doing the same with his bionic eye. It adjusts to the brightness faster, though he's sure it's less of a brain thing and more of a programmed response thing. The engineering  _ is _ rather impressive— 

And he resents that. 

They ask him to try to walk in a straight line, too, and he hesitates before standing up, towering over them. His legs have made him slightly taller—at least, when he straightens them fully. He's almost sure he's taller than Nines now, and the thought makes a strange feeling grip his heart. 

It's actually… kind of awkward to walk slowly. Not that he  _ can't _ —he'd just liken it to a human walking on all fours. Inconvenient but doable without much fuss. He was just… made to run and jump, to move quickly, efficiently, mercilessly. He tells Sylv as much when he wobbles on his first steps. 

Connor keeps his eyes on the floor, at first. As much as he's glad they're here, he doesn't want to know what Nines and Hank are thinking as they watch him. Or so he tells himself, but he still glances up and catches encouraging looks from both of them. He looks away, feeling… something. 

There are a few more things they check, but they can't find anything abnormal. Well—neurologically. The whole situation is abnormal. They ask him a few more questions, talk to Nines and Hank. A few final notes are made.

And then he's free to go. 

Well… sort of free. They want Nines and Hank to regularly update the hospital on Connor's condition, and he's to stay home for at least a week. After they finish analyzing Luther's cybernetics, they also want him to consider letting someone take a look at Connor's, as well—to modify or remove them, if possible.

Connor doesn't know if they can be removed. He knows, at least, he can't return his limbs to the way they were before. 

Before they go, Nines brings out a black bag with spare clothes—quite a few, "for more options." Connor's grateful. He had little more than a pair of boxer shorts to preserve his modesty. 

Connor goes for an oversized hoodie that he can pull over his head, in addition to baggy pants that he carefully slides his legs through. The angular, inhuman shape is still fairly obvious, but it still helps Connor feel better.

The shoes are a lost cause, though. Connor doesn't even try.

As they leave the hospital, Connor tries to make himself as small as possible—pulling the hood over his face, hunching over, hiding his hands in the loose sleeves of the hoodie. Shielding himself from the view of any passerby—Hank seems to catch on, and blocks Connor from the view of anyone that gets close, while Nines gently holds his elbow as he directs him to the exit. He's grateful for both of them.

He imagines people looking. Seeing him. Noticing the way his legs aren't right, the way his feet click quietly against the tiled floor. Seeing that he's some kind of  _ creature,  _ unmade and remade. By the time they get to the autocab, Connor wants to hide under a rock for the foreseeable future. 

"We're almost there," Nines says once they're seated—all three of them are on the same side, Connor in the middle. He pulls Connor's trembling body to his chest, and there's a pressure on the crown of Connor's head, covered by the hood. A kiss, maybe. 

"We're almost home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will get better. Eventually.
> 
> As a treat, you can see [this animation](https://sta.sh/010l7awf4imk) I made of Connor peeking over a table.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 3614
> 
> Hello there! If you haven't seen it yet, I made an animatic for this fic, ahah. You can watch it on Youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_jlQk_aX4s). Possibly spoilers for unwritten, barely-planned parts of the fic? Ha.

Home is a house in a quiet little neighborhood, too big for two people and still more than enough when Hank moved in. 

It looks… just like the way he left it. From the outside, at least. Like no time has passed at all. Like he was never gone. It's late in the afternoon—nearly sunset. The warm light around him almost seems to mock the heavy feelings within him.

"Connor?" Nines asks quietly when Connor doesn't move from the autocab's seat. He's just been staring out the open door. 

"C'mon, kid," Hank nudges him slightly. "Why don't we get you into a nice, warm shower? They said that everything's waterproof, yeah?"

Connor nods. A shower would be nice. He's almost forgotten how it feels to have one—the most cleaning he's gotten is getting cold water sprayed over him before another round of "maintenance." 

He shivers slightly before finally standing up. Luckily, no one else seems to be around—he's not sure he can bear to see any of his neighbors right now. Or anyone he knew tangentially. People who barely knew him and would now only know him as this _thing._

"Hey," Nines murmurs. "It's okay. You're home, you're safe."

Connor absently realizes that his distress must be very apparent. He nods again and lets his brother take his hand and pull him up and out of the cab. Hank follows closely behind. 

They approach the front door, and Connor finds himself… nervous. Why? It's just home… Nines and Hank are here. Why is it so hard for him to just… walk forward? 

Nines unlocks the door without letting go of Connor's hand and steps forward into the foyer, only to look back when Connor doesn't move. When Connor doesn't let go of Nines's hand.

"Connor?" Nines asks, brow furrowing. He turns back, putting his hand on Connor's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Nothing. Everything. Himself. "I don't… know." 

"Come on, let's head inside. I'm gonna overheat in the sun here."

Connor glances back. Hank has that strange expression of polite crankiness, as he often does. It's familiar. It's nice to have something familiar. "It's not even the hottest time of day," Connor says. "And somehow I doubt that you'd just overheat from the sunlight. Chloe would never live it down for having designed such inadequate cooling."

Hank blinks at him, consistently yellow LED flickering for a moment. He snorts. "Yeah, well, the sun is an ancient eldritch being that blinds both humans and androids if they look at it too long. From 93 million miles away."

Huh. "Point." 

"So? Get inside, kid."

Connor obeys, and the next thing he knows, he's home. He's _home,_ and everything is—there. The couch, the coffee table. The kitchen, further in. 

It's been so _long._ He thought… He thought… 

His steps falter, but both Nines and Hank grab him, stabilize him, keep him from falling over. 

"Connor!" Nines grasps him tightly.

"I-I'm okay," Connor says, which isn't entirely true. "I'm just—I… I thought—I thought I'd never come home again," he says before curling over, tears slipping out of his eyes. "G-god… I keep crying," he complains, wiping his eyes. 

"There's nothing wrong with that." Nines's voice is firm, unyielding. "Nothing. You have been through _so much,"_ his voice cracks, "so much you didn't deserve. But you're safe now, you're home, you're _here."_

Nines pulls Connor into an encompassing embrace, their chins over each other's shoulders. They're sitting on the floor, Connor realizes. Huh. When did that happen?

"You're finally home," Nines mumbles.

Connor can feel his brother trembling, and he thinks—five months. Five months that Connor was _there,_ but he doesn't doubt for a single moment that Nines spent every moment he could looking for him. Five months that Nines was probably running himself into the ground, hyperfixating on this one task, just _one_ thing he _had_ to do. His brother suffered in his own way, didn't he?

Connor lifts his hands to grip Nines's back, careful to keep the pointed tips from him. "Th-then… there's nothing wrong with you crying, either."

And Nines does exactly that. He's always been a quiet crier, but he still gasps and shakes as he clutches Connor tightly. As if Connor would disappear if he let go. 

Connor buries his face in Nines's shoulder, letting the wetness slip out of his eyes. He's not sure how long they stay like that, but part of him realizes that it must be incredibly awkward for Hank to just stand there. Connor pries himself from his brother, looking back, only to see Hank looking at them—hands behind his back, an oddly wistful expression on his face. He tightens his lips in something that might be a smile when they make eye contact.

"Thank you," Connor says suddenly, and the android blinks. "Thank you both. For finding me."

Hank approaches and takes a knee before putting a hand on Connor's head. "You don't need to thank me for this. I'm sure Nines feels the same."

"Yes," Nines confirms, voice still a little thick. "Having you back is enough. _You're_ enough."

"Oh…"

Hank stands, lifting his hand away. "Do you want me to get the shower ready for you? It takes a bit to heat up, right?" 

Connor nods. "That would… be nice. Thank you."

"I'll take your thanks this time," Hank remarks, and Connor feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

Hank moves away, and Connor listens as his footsteps recede. He listens as Hank opens a door, steps onto tile, and turns on the shower, the head letting out a familiar hiss as it turns on. 

Connor and Nines still cling to each other, if a bit more sedately. Connor listens to his brother's biorhythms, his breathing, his heartbeat, until Nines finally pulls away, looking Connor in the eye. His eyes are a bit red from crying, but he still manages to look somewhat put together. 

"Do you—" Nines hesitates. "Do you want any… help?"

Connor blinks, a _no_ on the tip of his tongue, but… "Can you just… stay outside? Just in case."

Nines nods, pulling his lips into something like a smile. "Okay." 

"Water's hot now," Hank calls out, peering around the corner.

Connor nods and stands up, Nines following along, watching him carefully. They follow Hank to the bathroom, and with a deep breath and a nod to both of them, Connor steps inside. 

The lights are already on, and the room is just starting to get steamy. It's… familiar. It's also something he hasn't had in so, so long. The room is fairly spacious, with the shower and bathtub—combined—taking up one side. A counter with a sink and various hygiene products scattered about takes up the other side.

… Nines always rearranges things back into place. So he must've… he must've been so… 

He catches movement in the corner of his eye, and his gaze is drawn to—the body-length mirror taking up the wall between the shower and the sink.

Connor's breath catches. The top area is slightly fogged by the steam, but he still has a full view. He's never taken a proper look at himself, back then. He saw—occluded reflections in windows and puddles, but never anything like this. Never anything that could show him what he's really become. 

He approaches slowly, lifting his hands to the polished surface, fingers clicking quietly as they make contact. He looks… He looks _inhuman._ His left eye consists of gleaming black sclera, with a pupil and the ring surrounding it glowing an unnatural yellow. Seams run under the eye along with the line of a circuit, the end glowing yellow and embedded into his skin. More seams, nearly invisible, run down the edge of his mouth. 

He parts his lips and flinches when he sees the sharpened teeth of black alloy in place of white enamel. He quickly closes his mouth, turning his attention to the piece of polymer-alloy that runs from temple to temple, across the back of his skull. Lines of glowing yellow circuits streak across it.

The control system, probably connected directly to his brain. He wonders what would happen if he tore it out. Maybe he'd die instantly. Maybe he'd go brain-dead. Maybe he'd become paralyzed, or— 

Connor shudders, closing his eyes. He doubts it can be removed safely. If it's connected to his brain, it must also be what's allowing him to control his limbs. It must be what makes those limbs feel like his own. 

Even if those limbs are… like this. He lifts his hands and opens his eyes, watching himself curl his glossy black fingers. Black metal and black plastic, tapered into what amounts to claws at the tip. 

He takes a breath and steps away, peeling off the hoodie and carefully stepping out of his pants and pulling off the boxer shorts.

Then, he is bare. He sees himself in the mirror, all that's left of him and what's been made of him. His legs gleam in the bathroom lights, meeting his flesh at his thighs. He presses his fingers at the edge and feels very little at all, sensory nerves killed by the procedure.

He draws his attention to his chest, to the hole carved into him and filled with a battery, a triangular circuit glowing yellow against the black plastic of the unit. There are circuits embedded in his skin and, undoubtedly, even deeper. He doesn't even know how different he is inside. He's not sure he _wants_ to know. 

Connor closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, letting his forehead rest against the mirror. He doesn't want to look at himself, at this _thing_ he was torn apart to make. He hates this, he hates what he's done, he hates what he is, he— 

He jerks back when a crack resounds in his ears, and he realizes he's pressed his claws into the reflective surface. He staggers away, taking in the sight of himself, fragmented in the cracked mirror.

He immediately feels guilt at the damage, the feeling clawing up his throat. A bitter laugh escapes him as he lets himself fall to the floor, pressing his palms to his eyes once more, letting the cloying emotions build in him. How fitting, that he'd shatter the image of himself.

A knock. _"Connor? Connor, are you alright?"_

Nines… right, Nines is just outside. Connor curls into himself further. "I-I'm—" his voice cracks traitorously, and Connor bites back the rest of the sentence.

A few seconds pass. _"I'm going to come inside. If you don't want me to, just… make a sound or something."_

Connor doesn't make a sound, and he soon hears the door open. Footsteps approach, and then there's a touch on his shoulder. Careful to remain clear of his spine, and the mechanical column implanted into it. 

"Hey, Connor," Nines says softly. "You okay?"

Connor makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, keeping his eyes closed. "I… I broke the mirror. Sorry."

"That's okay," Nines says. "Don't worry about that. You're more important, okay?" 

Connor forces himself to nod, and then turns to bury his face against Nines's chest. His brother carefully wraps his arms around Connor, encompassing him in warmth. 

"Do you want me to help you?" Nines asks quietly. "Or should I go?" 

Connor immediately lifts a hand to cling to Nines's shirt. "S-stay," he whispers. 

"Okay," Nines says. "Do you want a bath? It might be more relaxing." 

Connor shrugs. 

"I'll draw it up for you," Nines says. "Can you wait here for a moment?" 

Connor nods, and Nines pulls away. He hears Nines put the plug into the drain, and switch the shower to the faucet. The click of a bottle opening and closing. It doesn't take him long, and he returns quickly enough, gathering Connor into his arms again. "It'll be ready soon," Nines promises, and Connor nods. 

He can already smell the familiar scent of lavender, and it's enough for him to start crying again. Nines wipes away the tears without a word. 

Eventually, Nines leans away and shuts off the water. "Come on, in you go." He lifts Connor up, and Connor goes pliantly, feet clicking against the tile. He has to open his eyes to make sure he doesn't slip while sinking into the foamy water, but as soon as he's in, he closes his eyes once more. 

The heat is nice, and it seems to wash away an ache that Connor never really noticed was there until it started to go away. A deep full-body ache, so ingrained that it's almost become part of him. 

Nines thumbs away his tears again, and Connor opens his eyes to see his brother leaning over the side of the tub, brows slightly furrowed. His sleeves are rolled up, now. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," Connor echoes. 

"How is it?" he asks.

"Good," Connor says, letting his eyes slip shut. "Really good… It feels like it doesn't hurt anymore…"

"Anymore?" Nines murmurs.

Connor opens his eyes again to see Nines gripping the edge of the tub tightly. "You were… in pain?"

"I didn't notice it before," Connor says, shrugging. "More of an ache than anything. Not enough to bother me."

"You shouldn't have to be in pain, though," Nines says quietly. But firmly. "At all."

Connor shrugs again. He's tired. 

"Connor, please," there's a touch on his shoulder. "Just… tell me if you're hurting, okay?"

"Mmkay," Connor mumbles, and lets his eyes fall shut again. 

Nines inhales and exhales. "Do you want to stay like this a bit? Or do you want me to help you… wash your hair and everything?"

"Mm… wash? I'm tired…"

"Right… of course."

The feeling of Nines's fingers in his hair is wonderful. Even if Connor can feel the way he hesitates every time he brushes against the plastimetal on his head. 

"Do you remember?" Connor says quietly, and Nines's fingers slow. "When Amanda would do this for us. God." He chuckles. "It's been so long. I missed you. I miss m-mom, I miss everything we used to do. It feels like another life." 

Nines's fingers twitch before he continues to slowly push his fingers through the strands. "We can do anything you want," he says. "Amanda's coming tomorrow. And then… everything you miss. We can do it again, if that's what you want."

A hum escapes Connor's throat. "Maybe…" 

They lapse into silence after that, Connor letting himself melt into Nines's ministrations. His brother's motions are deliberate, careful. Safe. Connor feels safe, somehow… 

Nines soon grabs the shower head and uses it to rinse Connor off, keeping it at a low pressure. Connor doesn't know if Nines knows the way he was washed back at… back _there,_ but the gentle spray is so much nicer than getting hosed down. 

Eventually, Nines drains the tub and rinses the remaining suds off before grabbing a towel to dry Connor off. He's gentle with the hair, but Connor's sure it's sticking up every which way. He's gentle, too, as he wipes down Connor's spinal column, and each of his mechanical limbs. 

"Let me grab some clothes for you," Nines says, draping the towel around Connor's shoulders. "Is there anything in particular you want to wear?"

Connor hesitates. Most of his shirts have a low collar, and his spine attachment goes up to his neck. It's not the first time he's borrowed one of Nines's shirts, so… "Can I… use one of your sweaters? A loose one."

"Of course," Nines says. "Color?"

Connor shrugs. "Black?" He knows it's Nines's preferred choice, but… well. Maybe that's why. 

"Alright. I'll be right back." 

Nines brushes his hair back one more time before standing up and padding away. Connor listens to his steps as they fade into the distance. 

A few seconds pass. "Hank?" Connor calls quietly.

"…Yeah?" the android responds from outside the door. 

"Can you… come here?"

Hank enters, socked feet sounding softly against the bathroom tile. He kneels next to the tub. "Something you need?" 

Connor reaches out with a hand, and Hank blinks before taking it. Connor lets out a soft breath, closing his eyes. 

Only to snap them open at a strange buzz in his hand, in—his mind? He locks his eyes on their joined hands, blinking in surprise at the sight of Hank's skin pulled back. As if he were interfacing…?

"Sorry," Hank says. "Didn't mean to." The skin starts to melt back over his hand, but Connor squeezes tightly, stopping him.

"It's okay," he says. "It's… okay." 

Hank looks at him, yellow LED spinning. He nods, pulling the skin away again, and the warm buzz returns. Nothing more than that, though Connor has to wonder if they'd really be able to interface if they went further. 

He closes his eyes. Later. Maybe later… 

"What are you…" 

Connor opens his eyes to see Nines standing in the doorway, looking at them. Clothes are folded over one of his arms. His brows are furrowed slightly. 

Hank lets go, and the warm buzz fades. "It's not interfacing," Hank says. "Not exactly. That might be possible, though." 

"Right," Nines murmurs. He comes closer, holding out the clothes. "Want to put them on yourself, or…?"

Connor hums. After a moment, he nods, holding his hands out. Nines passes the clothes over before grabbing Hank by the arm and stepping outside of the bathroom, closing the door—well, almost. He leaves it open a crack. 

Connor slowly steps out of the tub, drying off the remaining damp spots. He eases himself into his boxers, the dark sweatpants, and finally into Nines's sweater.

It's soft. Well-worn. He gathers the turtleneck to his face and breathes deeply, catching the familiar scent of the detergent they use. 

When he forces himself to look into the mirror—the main one, not the one he'd cracked—he finds that it's… still difficult to look at himself. His right eye is still strikingly inhuman, and he can see a faint yellow glow under his shirt. 

He reaches for a cup on the counter, one containing a toothbrush. His toothbrush, his cup, just the way he'd left it. He wonders how often Nines looked at it and thought of him. 

Connor curls his fingers around the toothbrush, taking it out and rinsing it in the sink before grabbing the nearby toothpaste and squeezing it onto the bristles. 

He's not even sure he _needs_ to brush his teeth, but… he wants to. He wants to be clean. So he looks up at the mirror and bares his teeth. Black, razor-sharp, plastimetal alloy. He remembers when he lost a tooth during a "test run" against the… other victims. When _he_ thought he might as well replace them all. 

Connor closes his eyes against the memory, blotting it in his mind. He opens his eyes again to robotically brush his false teeth clean, careful of the sharp edges. He rinses out his mouth. He thinks he feels better. 

He pulls open the bathroom door to see Nines and Hank waiting for him. Nines immediately turns to him, getting up from where he was sitting on the floor. "Hey. Better?"

Connor nods, wringing his fingers together. Nines's hand lands on the small of his back, leading him. "Come on," he says. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

Connor nods again, letting Nines lead him to his room. 

Which is— _empty, lonely—_

Connor stops, hand on Nines's arm. Nines looks at him. "Connor?"

"I…" Connor clenches his jaw. "I don't want to be…" _Alone._

Nines lifts his hand up to squeeze Connor's arm. "Do you want to stay with me?" 

Connor bows his head, hiding his face. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Nines says. "This way, then."

"C-can," Connor starts, voice wavering. "Can Hank stay with us? Hank, do you—is it okay if you just—in case I—in case anything happens." 

"Nothing's gonna happen, kid," Hank says from behind them. He places a hand on Connor's back. "But if Nines doesn't mind, sure. I'll keep watch." 

"I don't mind," Nines murmurs. 

Connor hums, lowering his head again. "Thank you. S-sorry."

Nines squeezes him tightly. "You have nothing to apologize for." His grip eases, and they continue walking. 

Connor lets himself be guided into Nines's bed, lets his brother lay the blankets over him and pat his chest. "I'll go wash up and be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Connor says, and Nines goes, leaving him and Hank alone. 

The android watches him, LED still burning yellow. Connor reaches out a hand and Hank takes it without question, skin pulling back, filling him with that warm buzz again. He sits down on the edge of the bed and uses his other hand to brush Connor's hair back. "It's gonna be okay, Connor," Hank says quietly. 

Connor closes his eyes. He hopes so. He wishes so. But… 

"It _will,"_ the android says more firmly. 

Nines returns after a few minutes, clean and in his pajamas. He says nothing upon seeing their joined hands, but Hank lets go and steps back, folding his arms behind himself. 

Nines hums and climbs into bed, slipping under the covers, laying down next to Connor. "Hey, Connor," he says.

"Hey, Nines," Connor echoes. In the darkness of the room, he can see the way the yellow of his eye reflects in Nines's. It makes something in his chest squeeze. 

Nines might see it in his expression, because he wraps an arm around Connor and pulls him close. "I'm really glad you're home," Nines murmurs. 

Connor can't find the words, so he just nods and carefully wraps his arms around his brother, pressing his head against Nines's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. He's still nervous, but… Hank won't let anything happen. Maybe… Maybe this is okay. 

Before he knows it, consciousness slips away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ny'all enjoyed the Soft as much as I did, hehe. 
> 
> For the mirror scene, I was kind of thinking of [this art](https://twitter.com/gildedfrost/status/1294658809659568133?s=20) Frost drew of Connor a while back :'>


	5. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in months, Nines wakes up and his brother is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a hot while, oops. In any case, you can have a bit of Nines's POV 
> 
> Words: 2008

When Nines wakes up, it takes a moment for him to realize he isn't dreaming. That the weight curled against him is real, too real, with the chill of metal against his entangled legs. 

He can feel his brother's breaths against his chest, his heartbeat, but also—the near-inaudible hum of all the machinery that's been made a part of him. 

Nines closes his eyes, grasping Connor slightly tighter, and he feels hands tighten around his own back. “Connor?” he murmurs. “You awake?”

His brother answers with a soft hum. “I miss you so much…”

Present tense? 

“Stay,” Connor whispers. “I don't want to wake up…”

Nines blinks. “Connor,” he says, pulling back to look at his brother's face. He looks… dazed, almost. Not entirely here. His—his normal eye is unfocused, and his bionic eye shimmers strangely as internal mechanisms turn. Nines swallows, putting a hand on his face, thumbing under his more familiar eye. “Connor, I'm here. I'm real. You came home, remember?”

Connor blinks slowly. His brow furrows, and his lights pulse slightly, as if Nines could actually see him thinking, thoughts running through fabricated pathways. It feels like something he shouldn't be able to see. 

“Oh,” Connor breathes, finally, and he looks at Nines but this time he  _ sees _ him, and something in Nines breaks—as if he had more to be broken—at the disbelieving vulnerability in his brother's eyes. 

So Nines pulls Connor close, wrapping his arms around him. “You're home,” he says, and Connor's hands quiver as he clings to Nines's back. 

They stay like that for a minute or so, until Connor stiffens slightly and pulls back. “Where's Hank…?” 

It's at this point that Nines realizes the android is watching them, unmoved from when Nines saw him when they fell asleep. Upon being called, though, he approaches, LED spinning a slow yellow. “Right here, kid. See? Nothing happened.”

Connor hums, rolling to his back and closing his eyes. “This time…”

“Connor,” Nines murmurs, squeezing Connor's side, “it’ll be okay.”

His brother gives a noncommittal hum, and Nines sighs, moving to get up. “Let me make us something to eat for breakfast.” His stomach is reminding him that he very much skipped dinner.

Nines pauses, though, when Connor's fingers tighten on Nines's shirt—before Connor quickly seems to realize and lets go. A flash of yellow meets Nines's gaze before flicking away. 

Nines isn't having any of it. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Connor worries his lip with his (sharp, black, inhuman) teeth, and Nines immediately lies back down, curling an arm around his brother's back (and feeling the curve of the plastimetal spine embedded to it). 

(Stop thinking about it, Nines.)

“You should…” Connor swallows. “You should eat.” 

“Just me?” 

“I'm… not hungry,” Connor mumbles, curling into himself slightly. 

Nines furrows his brow. “You still need to recover from…” Well, everything. “… a lot. You should get something in your system. Come on, I can make anything you like—so long as we actually have the ingredients.” 

At this, Connor pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “Anything? I… it's been so long.”

“Anything,” Nines confirms. 

Connor looks at Nines. Down to his mechanical hands, then off to the side. “Tater tots… and eggs?” 

Huh… did they have any tater tots? Before Nines can answer, though, Hank speaks up. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “You two can stay here if you like, gonna be about twenty minutes.” 

“Oh… thank you, Hank,” Connor says softly, closing his eyes.

Hank nods, turning to meet Nines’s gaze. “And you, Nines?” 

“Cereal’s fine,” he answers. 

A pause. “I’ll make some sausage and eggs for you,” he says, giving Nines a pointed look. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” 

He leaves, shutting the door behind him, and then it’s just Nines and his brother. 

Connor’s eyes are still closed, but his hands shift to cling to Nines’s shirt. Nines hums softly, reaching out to brush Connor’s hair back with his fingers, to run his hand down the side of Connor’s face. 

It’s been so long… even longer since the last time they shared a bed, the last time Nines was able to hold his brother so close for so long. But it almost feels as though the clawing anguish in his heart was finally able to break free, and now his bleeding heart never wants to let Connor go. 

Nines closes his eyes, pulling Connor’s head to his chest, letting himself feel the warm closeness of his brother. His eyes burn, and he lets them. Lets the tears fall. 

An arm circles around to Nines’s back, squeezing him gently. “You’re crying.”

“Mm,” Nines hums in answer. And doesn’t say anything when Connor snuggles closer, when he feels a wetness staining his own shirt. 

* * *

Nines suspects that Hank acquired tater tots through some mysterious means, because when they get to the kitchen, he notices a bag he’s 100% sure they didn’t have before on the counter. 

He’s not complaining, though, especially not with Connor eating them one by one, savoring every bite. It almost seems like he’s about to cry, and Nines pulls his seat right next to his brother to lay a hand on his back. 

Then he actually does cry, but he quickly wipes away his tears with his sleeves. “Thank you,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, kid,” Hank says, wiping his hands off with a towel, having finished cleaning the dishes at the sink. “Nines, you should eat too.” 

Right. Nines obeys, and he’s glad Hank cooked him a large portion—his hunger is a lot harder to ignore once he actually starts eating. 

Connor doesn’t manage to finish, but he does eat more than half. Nines considers it a small victory, and puts the rest in a container for another day. 

After they finish, Connor says that he wants to explore the house. Refamiliarize himself with it. Nines’s heart clenches at the thought that he  _ has  _ to. 

“Do you want us to stay with you?” Nines asks. 

Connor hesitates. “Maybe just… be around?”

Nines exchanges a glance with Hank. “Sure,” Nines says. “We can stay in the living room?”

Connor nods before getting out of his seat, feet clacking on the hardwood floor. “Um,” he pauses, hand on the chair, “you said Amanda would be coming, right? When…?”

“She’s scheduled to arrive in around an hour,” Hank answers. “Open to change, though.”

“No, that’s… that’s good,” Connor says. “I’ll be off, then.” 

So Nines and Hank make their way to the living room couch as Connor starts wandering the house. Nines sits himself down with a sigh, reaching for the tablet on the coffee table. 

He doesn’t unlock it, though. He just leaves it in his lap, staring at it blankly. 

“How are you holding up?” Hank asks, and Nines lifts his head to look at the android, sitting on the other end of the couch. 

“I’m… I’m good, I think,” Nines says, gaze slipping back to the tablet. “Connor’s home. He’s finally back.”

Hank hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing further. It’s something he’s done a lot, these past few months. Ask Nines how he’s doing, and just… wait for Nines to talk. (Or yell or cry, as it were.)

Nines fidgets with the corner of the tablet. “I’m happy he’s back. That he’s alive, that I can hold him again… but…”

He thinks of the first time he saw Connor in months. He didn’t even recognize him at first, covered in black cloth soaked with rain and blood, metal glittering with reflections from police lights and his own sparking and flickering yellow. Collapsed on the ground, blades coming out of his arms, rain washing the blood on them into the mud. 

“But what?” Hank asks. 

Nines blinks, realizing he hasn’t said anything for a solid minute. He shakes his head, gripping the tablet. “But… why did it have to be  _ him?”  _ He curls over, the pain in his heart almost physical. “Why did he have to be the one t-to—to be made into a weapon, to have so much  _ taken?”  _ Nines would never know the touch of Connor’s own hands, warm and familiar and grounding. Connor had his limbs and insides rearranged as that  _ monster  _ pleased, and his  _ mind _ —Nines can’t even imagine. He doesn’t know if Connor will ever be the same, if he can ever heal from this with his entire body being a constant reminder of such violation. “It’s so unfair,” he says hoarsely, feeling tears slip out of his eyes. 

He feels a touch on his back. And then he’s being pulled into an embrace, head tucked against a shoulder. “The world isn’t fair,” Hank murmurs. 

“I feel like I’m being ungrateful.” The tablet is pressed between himself and Hank, and he squeezes the edge of it. “Shouldn’t I just be happy he’s home?” 

“What happened was horrible. It’s okay to wish that things were better. No one would blame you—I don’t, and I’m sure Connor doesn’t either. Right, Connor?”

Nines jerks back, immediately spotting Connor standing in the hallway, watching them, one hand on the wall. The yellow glow of his eye and circuits is stark in the shade of the hallway, and he looks—sad. 

“Connor,” Nines starts.

“Hank’s right,” Connor says. “I don’t blame you. I also…” he looks at his hand, closing it into a fist. “I wish this didn’t happen to me either. If only I weren’t such an idiot.”

Something niggles at the back of Nines’s mind—curiosity, and a dreadful realization that Connor might have to explain what happened for police record. But before Nines can act on the thought, Connor is already striding forward, taking the spot next to Nines and immediately wrapping him in a hug.

Nines’s breath hitches, and he twists around to hug Connor back. “I should be the one comforting you,” he mumbles.

He hears Hank scoff behind him. “Who says you can’t do both at the same time?” A hand lands on his head, and when he lifts himself up to look, he sees that Hank has a hand on Connor’s head, too. His brother blinks in surprise, a soft clicking sound accompanying the action.

“Both of you are hurt by what happened,” Hank says softly. “Who’s hurt more doesn’t matter, when both of you can be helped.”

“Heh,” Nines chuckles, laying his head on Connor’s shoulder, “who knew you could be so  _ wise.”  _

Hank grunts, ruffling both Nines and Connor’s hair before pulling his hands back. 

“What about you, Hank?” Connor asks quietly, even as he runs a soothing hand down Nines’s back. 

There’s no answer for a moment, though Nines already has an idea. He remembers the nights of Hank standing in front of Connor’s room in the dead of night, LED a scarlet ring of distress. He remembers that it was a rarity for the LED to turn blue, always stuck on yellow, he remembers how Hank stayed at the precinct for days on end just to keep  _ looking.  _

To be fair, Nines did the same—within the realm of human capability. Hank was usually the one to make sure he stayed functional, even as… even as he fell apart. 

“I missed you,” is all Hank says, though. But by the way Connor tightens his grip on Nines, he probably knows there’s more to it. 

Connor doesn’t say anything, though. One of his hands lifts from Nines’s back, and Nines turns his head to see Connor linking his hand with one of Hank’s. Nanoskin peels away, revealing Hank’s bright white chassis. 

Nines wonders what it’s like. Being able to connect in such a fundamental way—but he shouldn’t want that. He  _ shouldn’t, _ not when Connor never asked to become the way he is now, but there is still the slightest pang of jealousy that Hank can and Nines can’t. 

Nines quashes it down as he closes his eyes and tightens his grip around his brother. Regardless of everything, he’s thankful that Connor’s home. It’s more than enough. Now, at least, they can start to heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *throws hugs everywhere*
> 
> Also, I'd totally planned for Amanda to come this chapter, but then the lads lazed in bed for half the chapter and then I got slammed with Nines Exposition  
> So. Next chapter ajhshfdfs

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> See also:  
> [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Imzv6lu1STV67UWDWklBi) (Vaguely ordered in pre-rescue, post-rescue, and recovery)
> 
> Art:  
> [Twitter Thread](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice/status/1291104231559008256?s=20) (by me and others)  
> [Mantis Connor](https://twitter.com/gildedfrost/status/1294658809659568133?s=21%22) by Frost  
> [It's Alright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_jlQk_aX4s) \- Animatic by me
> 
> If you'd like to know when things will update, check out my posting schedule [here](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/14mF6Rm_CTutT-3XSqsCcDDv2vyKzEoc0RNywZlKxD3g/edit#gid=1114913519)!
> 
> Check me out on social media: [](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice) | [](https://ausp-ice.tumblr.com) | [](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice) | [](https://www.instagram.com/ausp.icium)
> 
> I'm also in [Detroit: New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) server! I have my own channel if you'd like to yell at me or just talk.


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